Minor Characters VIII: Forget Who I Was
by RowenaR
Summary: It's the eve of the Atlantis Expedition's departure and SG10 are bidding farewell to one of their own.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay, if you've read _The Right Thing to Guide Us_ , you know who's going to leave with Elizabeth, John and the rest of the Atlanteans. Thinking about how to go about it, I decided that the SGC and Homeworld Security gave the Expedition members one last big send-off and since no one knew if they'd ever come back, someone somehow (I suspect Jack) managed to convince Finances to shell out the big bucks and do it at the Broadmoor. And since it was never mentioned that they _didn't_ get an official send-off, I took the liberty of filling in the blanks.

We'll also see the introduction of a new OC whom you might have encountered before if you've read a couple _Minor Characters_ or _Protect and Survive_ stories taking place a couple years down the road. This is how he got into the Stargate Program. Everyone give him a warm welcome, huh?

* * *

 **Forget Who I Was**

„ _Es gibt nichts, was mich hält, au revoir  
vergesst, wer ich war,  
vergesst meinen Namen  
Es wird nie mehr sein, wie es war  
ich bin weg oh oh (oh oh) au revoir."_

 _Mark Forster, „Au Revoir"_

 **One**

 _Greenspan_

Well, that's it, then. This night of dancing and everyone pretending no one here is shit scared at the Broadmoor's Rocky Mountain Ballroom and tomorrow maybe a heartbreaking goodbye scene and SG10 as we came to know it in the last twelve months ceases to be. I've _tried_ to be happy for Maureen, since you know, Atlantis, that's sure to be a real big career opportunity, provided the Pegasus galaxy doesn't kill her first, and everything. I've tried so very hard. But it always comes down to one thing: I'm going to _miss_ her, _like hell_.

It's stupid, of course. I've been a soldier long enough to getting used to PCSing and people transferring out, to my social circle changing completely every few years but usually, people don't get transferred to a different _galaxy_ , with no certainty of ever returning or even at least being able to stay in contact, at _all_. With the exception of Tom disappearing from my radar for an entire year and those of my friends and colleagues and acquaintances who became casualties in one of the wars they were fighting – and granted, my brothers but that was _my_ choice, not theirs – I always managed to keep in touch with basically everyone I ever met through my job or privately and liked.

And now the girl who became my first best friend in _years_ is going to disappear into another galaxy and there's nothing I can do about it. I…

"Now, if that isn't my favorite microbiology and hospital hygiene specialist. Fancy meeting you _here_ of all places, Greenspan." Right.

I turn around, tearing my gaze away from the dance floor where… oh my God, did Tom just force the Marine officer Maureen was dancing with to let _him_ dance with her? That's not good. That just _can't_ be…

Okay, calm down, she's a big girl, she can handle this on her own. Keep to your own advice just for once, Greenspan, and let her use the wings you gave her. Alright. Be polite. Concentrate on the guy who just approached you. I smile at the guy standing in front of me, wearing what is apparently the German Army's version of mess dress and grinning at me. "Fancy meeting _you_ here, Morsberg." My gaze falls on his shoulders. Huh. "And bumped up a pay grade, too. Congratulations."

"Thank you. Guess they couldn't bear the thought of sending a mere lieutenant as their only representative in the infirmary." Mh, yeah, that's Matthias Morsberg, German Army, for you. We first met during my time at USU in Bethesda and it's been a while since I heard anything from him last – which was really weird since it happened in Bagram during a pretty bad mass-cal and it took me at least ten minutes to realize that the bearded German Special Forces guy I was talking to was the same guy as the baby-faced, irreverent exchange student I partied with in Bethesda – but apparently, he hasn't changed a bit. Or at least he tries very hard to make it look like he's still the same guy he was when he was drinking, studying and pissing off superiors his way through a year of US military med school. Don't we all.

I smirk at him. "Yeah, that must have been it. So, a Captain, huh?"

He shrugs. "Stabsarzt, actually but yeah, a Captain." Why the Germans have different ranks for their medical officers is and will always be beyond me. I consider asking him about it but he beats me to opening my mouth by saying, "Huh, funny."

Forcing myself _not_ to look at the dance floor, I raise my eyebrows at him. "What is?"

"You know," he says and for a moment, it's pretty plain that the exchange student has been replaced by something entirely else, and that he doesn't seem to like _that_ , "just two days ago, I was choking on dust in some godforsaken wadi, and now I'm standing here sipping champagne and wondering how the hell _I_ of all people got accepted to be part of the first ever group to go to another _galaxy_. It's just really boggling my mind, is all."

Well. I clear my throat. "The uh noticing part might or might not have been my fault."

It's his turn to look at me with raised eyebrows. "Might or might not have been?"

Alright, alright. I roll my eyes. "Oh fine, it _was_. They were asking for people with emergency surgery skills to volunteer and somehow I managed to mention your name. That's how you got on the list for potential candidates."

He makes a face, and I'm not sure if it's appreciative or perplexed. Seriously. It is completely indiscernible. "And how did I get on the list of _approved_ personnel?"

I shrug. And purposefully avoid looking at Maureen and Tom on the dance floor. Whatever's going on there, I really don't want to know. " _That's_ way above my pay grade, Captain."

Pretty sure he just wanted to correct me or at least keep digging deeper but as luck would have it, it's this precise moment that I hear a well known voice saying from behind me, "Do you want to break it up yourself or should I do the honors?"

 _Goddammit_.

For a moment, I consider not turning around and just keep ignoring the dance floor but then again, it's not Dee's style to simply barge in on a conversation, especially not between officers, so I roll my eyes and even go as far as heaving a slightly dramatic sigh and then turn to the dance floor, after all. And yep, there they are, having stopped dancing in the middle of swishing and swirling couples and it looks _very_ much like a scene is impending.

Just fucking great. I really thought… "I know it's not really my business but what exactly is going on?"

Ah, right. I grimace and then clear my throat to dig up the social graces I learned at the Academy. "Matthias, may I introduce you to Master Sergeant Simon DeLisle, US Air Force, our team's resident explosives expert?" Raising his eyebrows, Morsberg extends his hand to Dee, mumbling something about "Pleasure, Sergeant" while Dee shakes it. "Dee, this is Captain, sorry Stabsarzt," he just winced. Morsberg definitely just _winced_ when I actually bothered to use his fancy new German rank. Asshole. "Dr. Matthias Morsberg, German Army Medical Service. We met at USU in Bethesda when he was an exchange student there."

Dee at least tries to be civil and polite, mumbling something like "Nice meeting you, sir," but it's pretty clear that he'd rather get it over with the formalities so he can pull me aside and convince me to let him handle the enfolding scene on the dance floor. By now it's clearly visible even from here that Tom and Maureen are about to get into a heated debate about God knows what.

Morsberg, of course, can't just leave it be, raising his eyebrows again expectantly and saying, "So…"

It's weird but for some reason I love how Dee doesn't answer right away, just gives me a very short, almost unnoticeable look, waiting for me to nod at him equally subtly to give Morsberg the answer that meddling busybody wants. So, we still haven't actually _talked_ about that whole Pikes Peak thing and things haven't gotten any less complicated but at least _something_ somehow… loosened up. Well. You know. Whatever. "So we have a situation at hand, sir."

That, of course, sure as hell didn't do anything to quell Morsberg's curiosity so I sigh again and set out to explain further. "See that arguing couple out there in the middle of the floor?" Morsberg nods, and I almost wince when Tom reaches out to grab Maureen by her elbow. Hasn't that guy learned _anything_? "That's our commanding officer and our linguist, and they're about to embarrass themselves in front of practically every important officer in the program."

To his credit, Morsberg doesn't immediately ask what the hell this is about, just blinks, throws a weirdly thoughtful look at the dance floor, then another curious one at me and Dee that I don't like _at all_ and then says, "You know what? I think _I_ 'll try my luck at this." What the _hell_? "Anyone in your team going to Atlantis?"

Damn, straight into the wound. I exchange a short look with Dee, then reply, "Yes, she is. Volunteered just a couple weeks ago." I don't even know why I added that bit, especially because there's that weird contemplative look on Morsberg's face again. Followed by a _calculating_ look.

 _What_ is going on here? "Ah. Makes sense." Huh? "Okay, you two have fun while I go and try my hand at some socializing with a fellow expedition member."

Uh, no. Definitely not. "I don't think that's a good idea, sir." See? Dee agrees. That's a surefire sign that…

"Don't worry, Sergeant, I'll be fine." And with that, he's off, striding towards Tom and Maureen who are still arguing, and all I can do is shake my head. Damn, I honestly didn't think he'd be _that_ stupid.

"Laura?" Huh? "What's his medical specialty?"

Whatever _that_ is supposed to mean. Not sure where Dee is going with this, I reply, never taking my eyes off the scene on the dance floor, "Emergency and combat surgery, far as I remember."

Was that just a snort from Dee? "Good. At least he can patch himself up afterwards, then." Okay, okay. That _was_ funny. Just a little bit. I can't help grinning at him. "Anyway, what I wanted to ask before things went downhill out there…" Yes? "Would you care for this dance, ma'am?" See? Definitely less awkward.

If that is even possible, my grin grows brighter as I take his offered hand. "Thought you'd never ask, Sergeant." He doesn't answer, just gives me a smile that looks almost bashful and leads me out on the floor. Now figure that. And here I thought I'd spend the evening being bored to tears.

* * *

„There's nothing holding me here, au revoir  
Forget who I was  
Forget my name  
It's never again going to be the way it used to be  
I am gone oh oh (oh oh) au revoir."

Mark Forster, "Au Revoir"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Yay, new chapter \o/ (easy when everything's already been written for uh a year or something). And in case anyone's wondering: the song at the end that Dee means is Johnny Cash's "For You", a song that, ever since hearing it for the first time, reminded me of him. In fact, it's kinda the song my head assigned to his entire character the first time I heard it and I have never been able to shake it. Huh.

* * *

 **Two**

 _DeLisle_

So at least I won't be spending the _entire_ evening being bored to tears, and it won't even be because I have to save the Major from himself yet again. Or Maureen from herself. Whatever was going down over there before that German officer went over to apparently ask Maureen for the next dance, it clearly had the potential to become the one thing _everyone_ in this ballroom would remember of the evening. God, she should just have talked to him about going to Atlantis _before_ deciding to volunteer for it, seriously.

Because I'm pretty sure that's what the entire thing had been about and… "You're the first guy I ever met who can completely space out and still lead like a boss. Impressive. Do they teach that in Sergeant's School or did you learn that at the Agency?"

Oh. Oh damn. Oh right. Here I'm dancing with the _one_ person I'd _wanted_ to dance with the entire evening – issues pertaining to "the Pikes Peak incident" not having been cleared yet not withstanding – and the only thing I'm doing is wrecking my head about my two idiot team mates. I force myself to tear my gaze away from the Major simmering slowly in his ire by the buffet table and grin at her. "I could tell you…"

"But then you'd have to shoot me, yes. Funny, Sergeant. Really funny." Testy, aren't we? Don't tell me _your_ thoughts are completely on the dance, Laura.

I can't help mocking her, just a little, "Careful. It shows that there are no official social graces classes at the Academy."

At that, she actually goes as far as sticking out her tongue at me – thank God she's wearing civilian attire so at least those members of the brass who don't bother with lower echelon teams hopefully won't get their heart in palpitations about Conduct Unbecoming – and replies, "That's mostly because _we_ know how to drink tea without spilling it all on ourselves."

Damn, had to laugh at that one. "Fair enough." Then, just because we're off duty and ballroom dancing with each other and _something_ must be in the air to make me stupid, I hear myself adding, "And because I'm feeling generous… you want a twirl?"

Her first reaction is to stare at me like I just lost it. Her second is… laughing loud enough that a few heads are turned around and a few disapproving looks are shot our way. Damn, there's really something in the air here, and the worst thing is that I like whatever it's doing to us.

She's still laughing when she finally replies, little snorts and giggles and until now I would never have used the words "cute" and "Laura Greenspan" in the same sentence without fearing immediate retribution but tonight, it fits for the first time ever. Holy hell. "Yeah," she tells me, "give me your best twirl, Sergeant. I didn't spend a fortune on this mess of taffeta for nothing."

You know, I wouldn't actually call her attire a _mess_ precisely, even though it's not something I'd have expected her to wear. But for some reason, she really does rock that dark green, strapless, rhinestone bodice, wide skirt thing she's wearing. So I give her that full circle spin and her skirt's swirling around her legs and she's laughing again and right now, she's the most beautiful woman in this entire room.

God, I'm so screwed.

Mostly because even from a distance, it looks very much like the Major's mood just plummeted from "decidedly unhappy" to "downright murderous". "Shit."

Wait. Did I just mutter that out loud? I must have because Laura just raised an eyebrow, turned around for a moment and then rolled her eyes at the Major slamming his empty glass on an abandoned table and pushing his way out of the room. "Leave him be." Damn, did Maureen teach her how to read other people's thoughts? "I know you want to do that thing where you put out a fire he started but seriously, just leave it be." Or maybe I've been around her long enough for her to get to know me too well. Fuck. "He made that bed himself, now let him sleep in it. He deserves it."

So she's more pissed at the Major for being an ass about Maureen's decision to leave the team than she is pissed at Maureen for leaving the team without talking the decision through with us about it first. That does surprise me but then again, Laura's always been big on female solidarity, and it _shouldn't_ surprise me that being protective of Maureen and her decision to go her own way outweighs agreeing with the Major's blatant paternalistic and overprotective tendencies towards our youngest team member.

Still, he looked pissed off enough that I wouldn't put it past him to insult someone with stars on their shoulders just because they were in his way on the fastest way to his car. "Laura, I need to…"

"No, you don't." I very much do. "He's been behaving like an absolute _idiot_ even since before Maureen made her big announcement." It's not that she's _wrong_. "Just for once, let him sort it out on his own. And if he happens to run into trouble, so be it. He's a fucking thirty-something officer of the United States Air Force, he can live without someone holding his hand for just one evening."

Well, if you put it like _that_ … I clear my throat. "I'm just not… used to… you know…"

At that, she smiles. No grin or pitying face or eye rolling. Just a genuine little smile, of the sort even we as her team mates get to see only maybe every blue moon. "Come on, everyone has to go out of their comfort zone once in a while. You can go back to being Mother Goose tomorrow." You know, that's Laura Greenspan for you. Even though you never told her your AFSOC call sign, she still manages to figure it out without even being aware of it. Mother Goose, indeed. Thank God the Major's the only person who knows about this.

And just like that, the song we were dancing to stops and well, the prudent thing now would be to… oh no. Goddamn slow dancing song. No _way_ I'm going to… "Comfort zone, Sergeant. Going out of it. Just tonight." Shit. How did she know that it's virtually impossible to deny her anything when she leans in like that, just a little bit, just close enough that it's _this_ close to being inappropriate without actually overstepping any boundary? How did she know I'd never be able to say no when she uses that kind of husky, low voice? It's not _fair_.

I give up. "Okay, fine, just this once. And we're making Maureen swear that she won't tell the Major anything." Goddammit, I forgot again that after tomorrow, Maureen could very well be truly out of our lives. "Ah, shit, I…"

"Just shut up and dance, Sergeant." _Right_.

There's really only one thing every self-respecting master sergeant could answer to this. "Yes, ma'am."

I can see her smile again and I _know_ it's stupid and I _know_ it's going to get me in hot water but I just grin back and draw her into a tighter embrace while the singer on stage starts crooning that goddamn Cash song from that "We Were Soldiers" movie into the mic and yeah, this is definitely one of the times enlisted Airmen should be obligated to wear gloves with mess dress. If that were the case, at least I wouldn't be able to feel all that warm, smooth skin of Laura's exposed shoulders under my fingertips.

Ah hell. After the look the Major threw us before he stormed out in a hissy fit, this is probably never going to happen again, anyway, so I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. And man, am I enjoying dancing so close to Laura. I'm screwed as hell but what else is new?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, here we are again. I know the chapters are rather short, compared to my usual chapters, so I'm determined to get them to you as fast as I can. Anyway, one more chapter to go after this and it's the end of an era (you know, this whole SG10 thing? Takes place in the space of a year and took me over ten years to get to this point. Time is just such a _weird_ concept for writers, isn't it?). Whoooo, who's excited?

* * *

 **Three**

 _Reece_

Whoever had the idea to send a bunch of people to another galaxy the morning after throwing them a rousing party should be tarred and feathered. Repeatedly. God, I really don't mind getting up early, but I _do_ mind getting up early and being hungover. When I went to bed last night, I was _sure_ I was still at least semi-sober but the pounding headache that's still hammering away behind my forehead and the vague nausea in the back of my throat speak a different language.

Then again, that could also be due to the fact that I have only about thirty minutes left before leaving my home planet _without_ knowing if and when I will be able to return.

Alright, so, maybe check that rifle… "You were right, she does look a little green around the gills." Oh, right, _now_ my team mates – minus the Major but really, I didn't expect any different, anyway – appear? "Got a little too deep into the punch, Lieutenant?"

After checking to make sure that neither Colonel Sumner nor any of his more loyal officers are around, I stick out my tongue at Laura. "You're one to talk, Captain This Close To Going Coyote Ugly."

"Huh, funny," Dee ventures, "you didn't tell me about _that_ one, Laura."

"That's because it didn't _happen_ , Dee." Okay, she's right, she _didn't_ go _full_ Coyote Ugly but man, was _she_ plastered by the time we hailed a cab to go home. You'd have thought it was _her_ leaving for another galaxy from the amount of alcohol she consumed, _especially_ after Dee called it a night. Not that I'd ever suspect a connection or something.

Except that I do and except that Laura was probably fully aware of the fact that _I_ was fully aware of why she didn't hold back anymore after Dee left and actually went to challenge that German doctor who saved the Major and me from making a scene right in the middle of the dance floor to a booze contest. Turned out that guy is apparently the only one who can hold his own against her just fine. I'm pretty sure not even the Major could have matched her for _that_ long.

And that's the last time I will think of him for today. Or ever.

So, anyway, "She's right, it didn't." Yeah, don't look so smug yet, Greenspan. "Mostly because I hauled her out of there before she could get up on a table." Didn't expect _that_ , didn't you? And before she can accuse me of being a traitor, I decide to change the topic. "What's with the package, anyway?"

She raises the little package she's been holding ever since she came here, and shrugs, trying to look casual. "Oh, that. That's just a little going away present. Nothing fancy, just… well. Open it when you're on the other side, okay?"

Oh God, she's not going to cry now, right? Because if not even Laura Greenspan, queen of casualness and sass, can hold it together anymore, I'm going to be a _disaster_. If her lower lip so much as starts to tremble, I'm going to be an ugly crying mess on the floor, right where Colonel Sumner and all those strapping young male, impossibly green Marines he brought in with him can see me; a girl wearing MARPAT fatigues and a combat backpack and a flak vest and a P90 slung across her chest sitting on the floor and bawling her eyes out. We can't have that.

"Oh, Laura, you shouldn't have." Because honestly, the thought of someone having put enough thought into a going away present…

"Yeah, I should. It's nothing big. Just a little Pegasus galaxy survival package." Oh my God. Any minute now, we'll _both_ start crying and then… "Trust me, you're gonna need it."

"That's…" I can't even find the words to thank her. Even though we had a really long, in depth conversation about this whole thing after I announced that I would be going, I kinda had a feeling that she was just a little bit pissed at me for making this decision on my own, without even consulting her but apparently, I was wrong. Apparently, she did accept my reasons for it, even though I never even told her about the biggest one. "Laura, I…"

"It's okay, Maureen. Sometimes a Marine's gotta do what a Marine's gotta do. We're… we're damn proud of you, never forget that." Okay. You know what?

Forget Sumner. Forget the green Marines. Forget the MARPAT and the combat backpack and the flak vest and the P90. Laura's right. Sometimes a Marine's gotta do what a Marine's gotta do.

I don't think I have ever hugged someone as tightly and fiercely as I am currently hugging Laura. And I'm pretty sure that no one ever returned my hugs just as tightly and as fiercely as she is currently returning mine. Oh God, oh God, tears, oh no, this was a bad idea. This was a really bad idea and… is she _laughing_?

Yes, yes, she definitely is laughing, as is very evident now that she mostly let go of me. Laughing through tears, granted, but _laughing_. Before I know it, the words, "You mock my pain," are out my mouth and she… laughs harder, if that is even possible. Also, I _saw_ you cracking that grin, Dee!

And then Laura goes as far as saying, "Life is pain, Highness," between bouts of laughter and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, "Anyone who says differently is selling something." She shakes her head, obviously trying to get serious again. "God," she says, and it does sound serious now, "I'm gonna miss you, Reece."

"I'm gonna miss you, too, Greenspan." And I will. Of all my team mates, of all the people I got to know in my year in The Springs, I'm gonna miss her the most. Oh God, _why_ did I decide to be a part of this suicide mission called the Atlantis Expedition?

Oh well, that's over and done now and I have twenty minutes to go, so I better make sure to use them and not leave out Dee. I turn to him, trying to smile, even with my face probably horribly tear stained. "And I'm gonna miss _you_ , Dee."

He shrugs, visibly uncomfortable with any display of affection, as usual. Well, any display of affection that's not offered by _Laura_ , that is. I _saw_ that little slow dance number you brought last night. "Yeah, well… maybe this'll help?" Huh? What… "It's my old field manual. It's a little worn but… maybe it can be of some use over there."

I bet it will. From the look of it, he must have had this thing since the day he signed up. It's all dog-eared and I can see a few dark brown spots on the cover looking suspiciously like old dried blood and at some point it also must have had a good dunk into a river or something. There are also old post-its sticking out of it, their color long worn down to non-identifiable and… "I… I can't take this, Dee."

He nods, giving me a stern look. "Yes, you can. You _have_ to." And then he's even bold enough to take the hand that wasn't holding on to Laura's little survival package and presses the field manual into it. "Listen, Maureen. You take this and you read it and you soak up every little bit of information in there and you'll be the smartest company grade in two galaxies." Jeez, conceited much, Sergeant? "That's over fifteen years of enlisted wisdom in there. I have known company grades who'd _kill_ for that, trust me."

Okay, I do. It _might_ sound like he's bragging but if I'm honest, he's right. He managed to keep the Major alive as a company grade and probably a couple more officers before that, and he managed to keep an entire team of officers alive, too, so… there's gotta be _something_ to what he's saying, right?

I nod, not trusting myself to speak for a moment before swallowing down another rush of tears and telling him, "I… thank you, Dee."

He doesn't answer right away, just looks down in a vaguely embarrassed manner before looking up and… oh, hug. Another hug. A _good_ hug. Not of the soul crushing "I really, really, _really_ don't want to let you go but I know that I _have_ to" variety as Laura's but definitely a really good, hearty hug. Making me, once again, doubt my decision for a really tiny, really painful moment. And hearing him rasp, "You just show 'em, alright," doesn't make it easier, either.

When he lets go, I'm fumbling for an answer, just _something_ at least semi profound that could count as a good farewell statement but suddenly, there's a commotion behind me, as if things are finally _moving_ and in the end, I just adjust the straps of my backpack, check my P90 one last time and square my shoulders, choking out a final, "You all take care of each other, okay? Don't… don't do anything I wouldn't do, etc., etc. You… just be good, okay?" before turning around, unable to stay here any longer and force myself to ignore that there should have been _three_ people here to see me off.

But then again, at least that one fact tells me that my decision was ultimately the right one. If he doesn't even care about me enough for a short "Don't embarrass us, Reece," I'm really better off without him. Alright. New galaxy, here I come. How much worse than this galaxy can it get, anyway?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Alright, that's it, last chapter und then SG10 as we know it will be history. This is weird, guys. Does anyone else feel that this is weird?

Anyway, like I said, after this, there will be more one-shots than multi-chapters, especially for the first year (meaning the first Season of SGA) and it's going to get its own label, _Off the Record_ plus a denominator showing which Season of SGA it's set in. I'm currently debating whether going strictly chronological or posting everything I have and when I get it respectively (regarding the stuff I _haven't_ written yet, I mean) and sorting it in chronological order later. Advantage for variation A: you won't get confused about when it's supposed to take place, you won't get spoiled. Disadvantage: you might have to wait a lot since you already know my erratic writing schedule. Advantage for variation B: no waiting, you'll get stuff as I write it, no matter when it takes place. Disadvantage: you might get confused to the order of stuff, I'll be constantly reordering chapters and you might get spoiled for later developments.

Opinions, wishes, suggestions?

* * *

 **Four**

 _Moore_

Okay, whatever was in that punch last night should get the person who put it in there in jail. I swear, I have _never_ been hungover this bad in my life, _ever_ before. Not even that legendary hangover that nearly let me oversleep the night before that one International Politics test in Second Year was _this_ nasty. Bleeding headache, nausea – the kind that makes you want to puke but doesn't _let_ you – mouth feeling like something died in it, general yucky feeling… bah. I should have called in sick. Coming here today… "Hey."

Aw, no. A hangover's a shitty thing, but a hangover _and_ being bothered by Evan Lorne? That's downright torture. There's just one answer to this. "No."

"Aren't we sociable today." Why is _he_ so cheerful? I'm pretty sure he had _more_ of that punch than I did, seeing as he must have stayed longer than I last night.

"Fuck off." I can't believe he has the gall to actually to make a shocked face. As if he never encountered me hungover before.

Unfortunately, he doesn't comply with my suggestion but shrugs and… is he grinning beneath the hand he's rubbing across his mouth? "Honestly, shouldn't have gone so heavy on the open bar if you can't handle your liquor anymore, Tom." Can't handle my liquor anymore, my _ass_.

Alright, this demands heavier measures. I level my deadliest stare at him, hoping that my generally shitty appearance – nearly went back to bed when I saw my bristly face, sunken eyes, grey skin in the mirror – adds to its menacing quality and doesn't in fact make me look like a fucking hobo trying to scare a dog off his patch. "Did I fucking _stutter_ , Major?"

"Jeez, Tom, lighten up, will you?" _No_?

Usually, I at least _try_ to be patient with the people around me. And as usual, I fail spectacularly, once again. "What do you want?"

Lorne shrugs again and pushes himself off my doorframe. "Just checking on you. After last night…"

" _Fuck_ last night." I am _not_ going to talk to him about last night. To him or to _anyone_ else. First that thing with Reece, then some German Army clown trying to hit on her _right in front of me_ , then Dee and Laura getting it on on the fucking dance floor… maybe that hangover isn't _just_ the punch's fault.

Lorne's got no right to fake backing off like that, all hands up and placating tone of voice. "Okay, okay, obviously you're _fine_." Jesus fucking Christ. "Anyway, keep holing up yourself here just a little while longer."

I give him a deadpan look. "Okay, I'll bite. _Why_?"

"Because they won't leave for another thirty minutes, at least." Uh-huh.

Oh wait, I'm supposed to blankly stare at him and ask, "…who?"

That was pretty good acting, considering the pounding headache and the nearly insurmountable urge to puke into the nearest container, if I may say so. Lorne, however, doesn't look especially impressed. "You know perfectly well who." Asshole. "Want me to give you the all clear when they're gone?" I don't dignify _that_ with an answer. "Thought so. Anyway, have fun playing the hermit while _some_ people do real work." And with that, he's gone.

I _really_ should have called in sick today.

Groaning, I put my head on my desk. If only that headache would vanish, _that_ would really be helpful. Or maybe I could just stay like this for the next thirty minutes and hope everything sorts itself out or something. Or maybe… aw, no. Fuck. Goddammit. _How_ drunk was I last night?

Because somehow, someway a little nondescript black cardboard box made it into the pockets of my uniform pants at some point between last night and this morning and I swear, I can't remember _how the way it happened_. With another groan, I reach into my pocket and retrieve the thing. Yep. I'm a stupid asshole.

No, that's wrong. I'm not just stupid. I'm beyond help. Certifiable. Batshit crazy.

Because what I _should_ have done was put the thing away, lock it somewhere I never have to look at it again, get myself some Aspirin and start working on that latest mission report and what I'm _actually_ doing is pulling out a post-it, scribble on it, put it inside the box and then scrambling up and throwing open my officer door and fucking race through the corridor.

I don't care that there are people walking around, don't care that I nearly hit the wall a couple times, I don't care that after last night I swore to myself I'd never again even _think_ of Maureen Reece. All I care about is that _she's not gone yet_ and that I can't let her leave without that little black box, not even after everything that happened after our last mission. I can't let her leave without _saying goodbye_.

Just great, Laura's so gonna go "I told you so" once she hears how I came around in the last possible minute – and she _will_ hear about it because she's fucking Laura Greenspan – and she's going to be _insufferable_. After everything, after first shouting at Reece for cutting us, her _team_ out of the decision process, after cutting _me_ , her fucking _commanding officer_ out of it, after then not speaking to her for several weeks, after refusing to accompany her to the airport and seeing her off for her orientation in Antarctica, after constantly snapping at her during the only dance I ever shared with her… _I just can't let her go without saying goodbye, after all_.

Oh God, oh God, _please_ let her still be there, _please_ … Ah. Good. People in Atlantis uniforms still standing around in the corridor outside the embarkation room. And a speech. Sounds like Weir is giving a speech. Speech is good. Speech and people means that they haven't left yet. Speech and people… "But as all of you know, we may never be able to return home. I'd like to offer you all one last chance to withdraw your participation."

Withdraw their participation? Last chance? Oh God, Reece, where is Reece, maybe I can… "Hey, can I help you?"

Oh no. German Army clown. _What_ was it that I did in some past life or other that makes all those people appear at the _exact_ wrong time? I glare at him. "Yes, by getting _out of my fucking way_."

He gives me a grin. A fucking _grin_. "Sorry, but we're about to…"

Nuh-uh, not now. Not when they just started dialing. "If you value your fucking life: Stand. _Aside_."

Now he shrugs apologetically. The _nerve_ the guy has. "Afraid I can't do that." Sir. There should be a _sir_ somewhere in there, _goddammit_.

Jesus fucking Christ. "I don't _care_ , you moron. I swear to God, if you don't let me move, I _will_ …"

"You won't get to her." What? "She's too far further down."

The _bastard_. He knows full well what I'm here for, probably has known so from the first moment he spotted me. He…

He is, right now, my best chance at getting that black box to her. I really must have committed some heinous crime in a past life. Okay. Whatever. I keep glaring at him while digging the box out of my pocket and slamming it down into his hand. "Listen, you little bastard, and listen well. You'll get this to her, as soon as you're on the other side and not a _moment_ earlier."

Now he swallows, obviously finally realizing just _how_ done I am with this whole casual bullshit number he's trying to do on me. "I, uh…"

" _Swear_ to me that you'll get this to her." Good thing Laura doesn't happen to be around. I'd never hear the end of "God, you can be such an overdramatic diva, Tom" otherwise.

"I uh… yes, sir. Of course I will." And that's when I hear the characteristic sound of a wormhole being established and see my last chance at getting a glimpse of her… wait. Observation room. I can still get one last look.

Without giving German Army clown even one more little piece of my precious attention, I turn around on my heels and race up the stairs towards the observation room, then fight my way to the big windows, not giving a shit that I just jostled a Lieutenant Colonel out of my way and… there she is. _There she is_.

She's in battle rattle, wearing MARPAT uniform, looking more Marine than she ever did before, with a heavy looking black backpack and a flak vest, her rifle in her hands, her back turned towards me. Ready to leave as soon as the people in front of her filter through the gate. Oh God, Maureen, turn around. _Please_ turn around. Just once, just one last glance so you can see I never meant to be an ass towards you, even though I wasn't completely out of any rights to be pissed at you. Please. Just _one last time_. Just…

Oh.

Oh, she actually… just turned around. Turned around and looked right up to the observation room, as if she somehow _knew_ that she was being watched. Looking as if she's _disappointed_. Oh crap. _Oh crap_. I… should do something, right? Like… wave at her or put my hand on the glass or something, right? _Right_.

Then _why_ are my hands staying down, as if they're glued to my side, why… oh, oh no. She turns around and… starts walking. Right towards the gate. One foot in front of the other, more determined than I ever saw her take steps ever before.

And then, just like that, she's gone.

Oh God. What have I done? _What_ have I _done_? It wasn't supposed to end like this, it wasn't supposed to end _at all_ and now she's gone, with a pretty big chance that I'll never see her again.

Laura was right. I mean I know Laura was right because she always is when she calls me an idiot or any other synonym in her vocabulary for that but… she was _right_. I _am_ an idiot, and I _deserve_ everything I got. I fucked this up, and I'm not sure if I can ever make it right again. This… is bad. This is really, really bad. I'm just so screwed. Just. Fucking. Great.


End file.
